Page 74 of Purchased

He puts it down and looks at me with a kind of amused expression, which is pretty bold given the last thing I did with this sword.

“You know, having a mate can be stressful, as well as being the greatest joy.”

“Can it? Fascinating.”

“Don’t be snappy.” He nudges me. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Should never have got a therapist. Now she has someone else to talk to instead of me. And she doesn’t talk to me to begin with.”

“She’ll talk to you when she knows what to say.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Give her time.”

What the hell is happening to me? I’m supposed to be the alpha, the one who knows everything. The one everybody comes to for answers. Here I am, on my roof, getting the most basic advice from my cousin.

“You’ve been wound tight since she got here,” Daniel says. “I think you need to relax.”

“Really.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just chill. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s just the future of the pack and the love of my life.”

“Right. Not worth worrying about it.”

I throw a stuffed toy at him.

CHAPTER17

Volkov

My tenure as therapist to this pack of French wolves is coming ever closer to a close, but there are some members of the pack who have asked to see me besides the alpha and his mate. My services are actually becoming more popular as time goes on. Almost as if the pack is lacking safe confidantes. Almost as if it is being run by a violent little boy who should know better.

I am getting a view of this pack that few others will ever have. I am coming to know their secrets, the things they keep hidden even from one another. It is a fascinating dynamic, and I know it will only grow deeper and richer over time. The books I will be able to write on this will inform shifter psychotherapy for decades to come. Putting up with the alpha is absolutely worth it.

This is the first session I’ve had with this particular member of the pack. She enters the room with her body contorted like an apology, avoiding eye contact with me in an overt display of respect.

I note instantly that she is afraid. Fear clings to her in an acrid, bitter scent that hits me in waves. The ability to smell feelings is not always a blessing.

“Come and sit down,” I tell her, gesturing to the chair most clients sit in.

She does as she’s told, giving me a little glance as she sits. I check my notes. All I have is a little note request for an appointment, written in a neat and careful hand.

“Jenny?”

“Yes.”

“What brings you to see me?”

“They killed my husband.”

The woman in front of me is delicate and feminine. She speaks in a voice barely audible above a whisper, and yet there is a strength to it. Her hair is a fine kind of blonde, done up in a careful up-do that indicates she is taking care of herself in the midst of her grief. Her clothing is likewise formal, a china blue floral blouse and skirt. There is a quiet elegance to her that is quite at odds with my appearance, but I appreciate it. I’d put her age at around thirty or so, still young, but older than the other two I’ve been handling so far.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. “Who killed your husband?”

“The alpha, and his mate. She did not touch him, but she put the order on him just as surely as if she’d done it herself. And then he, the alpha, Armand, executed the love of my life as if he were nothing more than a rat.”

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